


From nothing, a rose, it grows

by SomeSortofItalianRoast



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baked Goods, Childhood Memories, Don't copy to another site, Endgame? What Endgame?, F/M, Happy Steve Bingo, Memories, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeSortofItalianRoast/pseuds/SomeSortofItalianRoast
Summary: It all started with a small box on his desk at SHIELD Headquarters.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019





	From nothing, a rose, it grows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Happy Steve Bingo, bingo square T-3, secret admirer. 
> 
> Title from ["Summer of Love" by U2](https://open.spotify.com/track/70ItvfhDJSvIpYCVQoxqEg?si=JkjXad2STs63SjmEFCgWYg).  
> Bono, Clayton, Adam C., The Edge, and Mullen, Jr., Larry J. (2013). Summer of Love. [Recorded by U2]. _On Songs of Experience (Deluxe edition)_. [Audio File]. Dublin, Ireland: Island Records.

It all started with a small box on his desk at SHIELD Headquarters. 

It probably didn’t _start_ with the box on his desk, but that was when he realized it was a thing. He’d returned from a hard mission as an Avenger, and found the box on his desk. He was so tired he almost missed it, wrapped in subdued red and silver striped paper. It was resting on an ivory envelope, his name written in perfect cursive. He didn’t worry about the package, since anyone who had access to his office would be unlikely to try to poison him. Not that it would work, poisoning him. 

He finished and submitted his report on the mission before his curiosity the better of him. He pulled the envelope out from under the box, and opened it, noticing that his unknown sender had sealed it with a Captain America shield sticker. The letter was handwritten, in the same perfect cursive, telling him that the box contained a dozen handmade pecan butterballs, the sender’s grandfather’s favorite cookies, and they hoped that the cookies would be a good reminder of the past. The sender had included an ingredient list, as well as a way for him to let them know if he wasn’t interested in receiving more presents. It was signed “your friend.” 

Curious, Steve unwrapped the box, noticing how precisely it had been wrapped, and opened it to reveal the cookies. He’d had them before the war, but not since being defrosted. They were almost perfect dime-sized spheres, rolled in a finely ground sugar. They looked… they looked like they had when he was little. He re-read the letter, looking at the cookies, before nodding and selecting one. He took a careful bite of the small cookie, closing his eyes at the memories they brought back. Good memories. Memories of Christmas with Bucky in the cold water tenement in Brooklyn. One of their neighbors had given them a few of these cookies that year, saying that they reminded her of her grandsons. 

Opening his eyes, Steve smiled. He pulled out a sheet of stationary out of his desk drawer, and picked up his pen. While he might not know who had left the cookies (he had a few suspicions) or why, he wanted to get to know them. In his elegant script, he wrote that he wanted to meet them, giving a time and a place.

A few days later, Steve got to the coffee shop about 10 minutes early, ordered a flat white, and took a seat in the corner, where he’d be able to see everyone who came in. He placed the single red rose on the table, took a sip of his drink, and waited. He hadn’t received a response to his letter, though another wrapped package of cookies had appeared on his desk, a dozen green trees this time, the note identifying them as spritz cookies. He took the cookies as confirmation that his admirer had agreed to the meeting, especially as the envelope that had accompanied the cookies had been sealed with a kiss instead of a sticker.

As he watched the door, one of SI’s archivists slid into the seat across from him, surprising him. He’d seen her do that to Tony Stark before, appearing at his elbow with something for him to sign. She smiled slightly, lips a wonderful shade of vintage red. 

“I take it you got my message,” Steve said, extending his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“Margaret Donnelly.” She had the slightest trace of an Irish accent, something he’d never noticed the handful of times he’d seen her at the Tower. She shook his hand, fingernails painted the same color as her lipstick. “It was hard to miss, your message.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d agree to meet with me,” Steve admitted. 

“I baked you cookies. Of course I’d agree to meet with you.” She smiled at him again. 

“They were really good. Reminded me of Christmas with Bucky.” 

“I was hoping they’d bring good memories, the cookies.” She paused, hesitating slightly. “I was feeling nostalgic for my family when I made them.”

“A feeling I understand more than most, I would suspect.” Steve picked up the rose, and offered it to her. She tilted her head to the side, considering. 

“You know the symbolism of a single red rose, yes?” she asked. 

Steve shook his head, admitting that “I couldn’t figure out what to say I’d have on the table, and it seemed more traditional than a white or pink rose.” 

“That it is,” she said, taking the rose from him. She lifted it to her nose and smelled the delicate scent. The petals were almost a match to her lipstick. With a smile, she reached across the table, taking his face in her right hand. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his. It was just the barest hint of a kiss, the promise of more to come.


End file.
